Of Sheaves and Spirits
by sarika
Summary: Ianthe, later known as Persephone, and her cousin, Eurydice, find themselves in Hades one by choice and one by death and both by love. The myths of Hades&Persphone and Orpheus&Eurydice retold as one intertwining tale. R
1. I Preparation

_Almost two years later, I've decided to re-write this story, Of Sheaves and Spirits, after realizing I was still fond of the idea (I had initially only written a few beginning chapters). I know there have been numerous re-tellings of the Hades and Persephone myth, but I will try my best to make this one as original as I can, with the incorporation of another myth, Orpheus and Eurydice. The story does not begin with the abduction of Persephone, but with Persephone before she became the beloved of Demeter- not her daughter at all and not bearing the name until later. If you can, I appreciate constructive feedback. Thank you. This is also posted at my account._

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Of Sheaves and Spirits  
Chapter I: Preparation

I carried my torch into the chamber with a sullen expression: narrowed eyes and a scowl blatant on my lips. The fires, burning from crosswise pieces of wood fastened with rushes to the torch staff, made my cheeks warm and my eyes hot and irritable. I lowered the cursed thing and sighed into the smoke, my fingers curling at the clasp of my tunic when I saw her sitting on her stool, blinking into her bronze mirror; she was my sister, Andromeda.

Andromeda was as beautiful as Aphrodite, the servants whispered, with honey-coloured hair and marble skin. If it cursed her to use such a comparison aloud, I would have said so many times for the jealous goddess to hear- but I, a girl of eleven years, was too proud to admit my sorrows. Helice, a serving woman in our house, hovered over my sister with her gnarled fingers, combing my sister's hair over her ears and temples then tying it back with a ribbon. This simple arrangement displeased Andromeda, and she swiftly pulled the ribbon from her hair and bade old Helice to begin again.

"Bring the light to me, little sister," Andromeda summoned to me softly, though the squinting woman who twisted her hair into ringlets did not utter a complaint at the dimness. Helice burned her fingers on the hot clay cylinders and did not bite her lip; Andromeda yelped when they so much as brushed her pretty scalp. I stood behind the crone, bitter behind my flame.

I was angry because my sister was to be married and I was not. My father was cautious in choosing a suitable groom: a man from a household as wealthy as his own. Father offered him a handsome dowry of jewels, animals, clothes, and other fine things. He offered a sacrifice to Hera, patron goddess of marriage, and Zeus. Andromeda sacrificed her childhood playthings to Artemis and did not play with me after that. But that was not why I hated her. I hated her because she was older; I hated her because she was beautiful.

Helice dressed her before morning came. After sweet-smelling oils were rubbed into her palms and feet, Andromeda was fitted with a fine, white chiton fastened at both her shoulders with bronze clasps. The cloth was gathered and tied neatly about her waist, the length of it past her knees. I, who wore the short dress of any maiden, felt the sting of childish longing in my eyes.

"Ianthe," Helice croaked, "fetch the lamps and set them on the table."

"Yes," I answered, reluctant to obey the requests of a serving woman.

"And hurry," Andromeda added crossly, "I want to be ready before tonight."

"Dawn has not even arrived yet," I remarked, "and all other lights are dim."

"You carry your torch like a blind woman carries her walking stick. Navigating through Hades, Ianthe? Are you still fearful of the dark? There is a light enough from the lamps and no need for your torch- _ow!_" Helice was not afraid to scold a mocking tongue- even if it was Andromeda's.

But I dared not grin in the presence of either of them; I stole away to my task with as much haste as I could muster with unwilling feet. I kept my flame before me, for it made the shadows flee and guided my wary steps.

"It will be your turn soon, little one," Helice said upon my return. I did not like being called 'little' and I scowled at the term much to Helice's silent reprimanding. She was fitting bands of copper and cold around Andromeda's wrists, ankles, and around her neck. A gold coil, tipped with the head of a snake embedded with a tiny, green jewel between its slanted eyes, was wound around her arm, from shoulder to elbow- like a priestess and her serpent, I decided.

I drew away from this dull preparation and fuss, wondering if my mother had a desire to be included. But she was ill, I reminded myself wearily, with fingers that quivered more than Helice's crooked own. She would have noted my quiet observing and idleness and ordered me to occupy my lazy hands with her weaving.

I blew out my light when the light of morning came. I sat upon Andromeda's bed, pulling the edges of the woollen covers across my bare knees scabbed from playing rough games in the street with my brothers. I let my eyelids droop lazily to a close, resting my heavy head upon the plump pillow.

"Ianthe, my cosmetics," Andromeda's water voice splashed into my ears, and I cursed her for disallowing me my slumber and begrudgingly went to find her small, wooden box of kohl and powder.

It seemed hours until Andromeda deemed her face perfect enough, even in the cloudy reflection of her mirror. Her hair had been fixed into ringlets at the front, with longer curls down her back, and fastened with ribbon and smooth bone pins. Helice fitted a veil over my sister's nymph face and bade her to sit and wait.

"Will I go to my mother- so that she may approve?" Andromeda asked, sighing impatiently.

"Let her sleep today," Helice said, "so that she may follow your husband's chariot to his father's house."

"I can smell the feast," I offered, idly examining myself in Andromeda's mirror.

"I will comb your hair now," Helice murmured, pulling the edges of my garments so that I would sit at her feet. My hair was long- dark water spilling down my back. I longed to wear it ribbon-bound, but Helice delighted in combing it across my back.

"Do you think my husband will be pleased with me?" Andromeda asked hesitantly, the first trace of nervousness seeping through her translucent veil. "Will he think me beautiful enough?" But I scowled again, because Andromeda knew she was beautiful enough.

"He will be too drunk with wine to notice," Helice replied bluntly. "But I will give you a gift- though they may be presented to you upon your arrival." The old woman reached into her servant's tunic and pulled out two crude bundles. Andromeda snatched them from her fingers excitedly, despite their sordid appearance, and prodded at the frayed edges of the cloth.

"Shall I unwrap them now?"

"Do what you please."

There was a sesame cake in the middle of one cloth and a small, ripe pomegranate in the center of the other. I watched enviously and ignored the hungry snarl of my stomach; I did not understand the purpose of such gifts and craved my own for reasons other than my hunger. I watched as Andromeda lifted her veil and nibbled the corners of the cake and found the juice and seeds of the pomegranate through its thick, reddish skin.

"For a fruitful bed," Helice mumbled, pressing her lips hastily to the bride's shrouded brow.

"Do you not have a present for me?" I interrupted, demanding and grasping Helice's shift for attention.

"You are not getting married," Andromeda laughed. "Ever," she added. "For my dowry is far too grand for Father to afford the same for you."

"Andromeda, you will shrivel this fruit with your proud words- Hera might curse your boasting, and your wedding bed," Helice said seriously. She was a superstitious woman who carried the wooden carving of some unnamed goddess in a pouch around her neck and murmured counters at every supposed bad omen. "You are grown and your sister is small," she continued, "so smile at her envy, for she wants what is yours and knows that what you have is great."

"I am not jealous!" I persisted through my teeth. But I had felt my skin prickling with envy since my sister's wedding bath.

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The men and women, though placed to eat on separate sides of the room, dined together before dusk in my father's house. An array of slaughtered animals decorated the tables; fruits, cheeses, breads, olives, and wine were plenty. I dipped my bread into the olive oil and gobbled it greedily under my weary mother's gaze. She peered at me through reddened eyes and lowered her chin into the folds of her chiton.

"My daughter, what am I do with you?" she sighed, smoothing my hair with greasy, pale fingers. "I might not live to eat at your wedding feast- to see you reach fifteen years… you must be married before then… I will speak to your father…"

I ignored my mother's subsequent comments and ramblings concerning my marriage prospects and listened more intently to the musicians before the hearth. They sang ballads and merry songs alike or played rousing tunes upon their flutes and strummed bards' stories upon their lyres. One of the minstrels, a young, handsome man who unstrapped the lyre from his back, threw up his hands as if to recite a bard's tale.

"O child of Demeter!" he proclaimed, his voice clear and unaffected by the wine goblet he set at his feet. "O child of Demeter!" he repeated loudly, plucking a stirring melody after his words for effect. He continued:

_Beware the affections of Hades and the wooing of The Styx. _

_Be warm to Earth and cold to Death. _

_Beware the wrath of sheaves and the embrace of spirits._

The house fell silent as his voice faded dramatically. My father arose, thinking this ranting man had spoken ill of his eldest daughter when he had been looking at me- I was certain of it. But the foolish minstrel evaded his face reddened by wine and rage. His voice was mournful, lamenting a dirge as if the crackle of a pyre not hearth sounded behind him. The man's melancholy tone cracked into an alarming wail that fell hard upon the stone floors of my father's house; it seeped between the strewn rushes, into the cracks and the crevices in the stone, and across our chilled hearts. He said more:

_Beware; your children will be stillborn_

_For none are born alive there_

_In Hades where the dead still die_

_And wail their tales of woe._

"Silence!" my father bellowed, throwing his goblet at minstrel though it rolled into the hearth. "Get out of my house! I will not hear of Hades this night- no, but Hera, you others, sing of Hera and Her blessings! Get out, you talentless worm! Give me your name first so that I may warn others of your perverse manner!"

"My lord, I am Orpheus," the man answered humbly, bowing his head and securing his lyre to his back once more. "I will go."

I felt my mother's weak hand upon my shoulder. I turned to face her, almost fearfully, almost wondering why she should look to me and not my sulking sister. My mother's eyes were dull stone and tearful; her skin bore a deathly pallour.

"It is almost dark!" my father's voice boomed not long after. "We must go outside and meet the other party. The chariot is waiting and the streets await our procession."


	2. II Procession

**Chapter II: Procession**

The evening air dulled my sorrows and cheered my heart. The women sang bridal hymns and onlookers shouted their blessings to us. It was getting darker and I had not my torch to quell my fears. My mother had her own and was helped by her sister, my aunt, to follow the chariot carrying Andromeda and her new husband in a procession through the streets.

My new brother-in-law was not so handsome; his dull demeanour failed to grasp even my jealousy. His dark curls fell heavily over his face and his scraggly beard contained the remnants of a feast, sticky with wine, his tunic stained. Andromeda had sipped her share of drink as well and laughed gaily at the noise. She made crude jests of the horse and nearly lost her veil.

I searched the party for Eurydice, my cousin and favourite playmate, and found her trailing the chariot most determinedly, her pretty face gleaming under her torch, dreaming. She was a year younger than I and she resembled Andromeda in my sister's younger years, with the same honey-coloured hair and outward noble grace, and I forgave her for it because she was every bit as ill-behaved as I was. While Andromeda played with me with spinning tops and clay puppets in her youth, it was sweet Eurydice who aided my mischief and was cause for trouble in the women's rooms. But she wore a wreath now in her hair, like Andromeda, and pulled a cloth over her face like a veil.

"Do you see me, Eurydice?" I asked, eager to have her attention. I snatched the makeshift veil from her head and crumpling it playfully in my hand, receiving a short cry of protest from my cousin.

"I do see you!" she assured me, forcibly angry with me. But her anger did not last long and she handed me her torch, glad to be rid of it and delighted to see me. "I know you want it," she said, knowing my fears. Her face darkened. "Ianthe, do you think that minstrel was telling the truth? His song frightened me."

"It was hardly a song," I scoffed nervously. Only Eurydice could hear a melody in the wind.

"Why did he curse Andromeda?" she wondered worriedly, and I was not pleased with her concern for my sister.

"Come with me, cousin," I said brightly, attempting to take her mind from the minstrel and his petty song. "Let us go back to the house and smuggle food from the kitchens!" But my cousin frowned at me.

"Your father will thrash you," she told me. "I want to watch Andromeda."

"Very well." I made a disappointed noise and fell into step behind my cousin, throwing her cloth onto the stone and trampling it under my sandals. I wondered that Eurydice had cause to admire my sister as much as I but was not jealous. Instead, she was dreaming of her own wedding, and was watching everything intently, wide-eyed and hopeful. I knew that this witness would never let herself act childish again.

"We are at the door," she said when the party came to stall. "Oh, why do you look so grave, Ianthe?" Eurydice laughed suddenly, pinching my arm to keep me from frowning.

"My feet hurt; they are wearied by this long walk." I should have been thinking of my mother, whose sister groaned under her weight. Eurydice, who knew me more than anyone else, curled her lips into a sly grin.

"She is so beautiful," she tested me, but I knew she meant it too and I pretended that I did not hear her.

I was repulsed by my sister's merriness. She staggered out of her chariot, half dizzied by fear, and approached the rosy woman at the door of the house: her husband's mother, holding the torches like my mother: the end of her beginning. The woman kissed my mother's pale cheeks and murmured a blessing for their children.

"I will never marry," I declared, but my cousin mistook my words for hopelessness and patted my shoulder with conviction.

"Oh, of course they will find someone for you! You are pretty enough, and clever. Your father will find a good match for you."

"And you?"

"I will be as fortunate, of course," she said, grinning. "My father will find me a handsome man, a rich man."

I laughed at her foolishness and looked again to my sister as she disappeared into the darkness of her husband's house, too filled with wine and fear to look smugly back at me.


	3. III Dark Earth

**Chapter III: Dark Earth**

The servants in my father's house grew less irritable in my sister's absence. The women hummed tunes remembered from the wedding feast; the men were less hesitant to be seen. Even Helice gave me a rare smile when she taught me to use a spindle.

I was small for my eleven years and Helice did not complain about my weight in her lap. Her worn hands guided my own; the flax slipped defiantly between my unskilled fingers. When I had begun to spin an even thread, Helice lowered her head and moved her lips to my ear. I expected her to utter me praise, but she whispered lowly as if she were to tell me a grand secret. And I should have known better; Helice never praised anyone but the gods.

"Men cannot know the sacred task of Fates," she started, her breath warm on my cheek; it smelled of olives. "The Fates frown at you, Ianthe. They can never cut your thread."

"Am I to live forever then?" I wondered, squirming in her lap, pretending to be amused. I turned my head in time to watch the old woman reach into one of the pouches tied to her girdle. Her hand emerged holding something within a closed palm and she motioned for me to hold out my hands for her. She emptied the contents from her hand: a soft pile of dark earth.

"What is this?" I demanded, lowering my voice with haste when I recognized Andromeda's tone in my ears. "Why do you do this?"

The old woman's face, to my surprise, brightened with a tight smile. She lowered her head and whispered into my ear again, confiding to me, it seemed, the secrets of the gods—and perhaps she was doing exactly that.

"Daughter of Earth," she breathed. She fumbled into a second pouch, smiling again that secretive smile. She sprinkled a handful of grain across my lap and I leapt from my place, the spindle flying from one hand and the soil from the other. "I cannot tell you what I see!" Helice said with a sudden desperation. "I was once a prophetess, you know—for Demeter."

I brushed the grain kernels from my tunic. "Do you see my husband?" I inquired, observing the grim look on Helice's face as she stared at me, almost dumbfounded. I heard her sigh.

"Your future is dark to me," she told me. "You cannot marry. You cannot see your cousin Eurydice again."

"You cannot keep me from seeing her," I assured her, resuming my task with the spindle in an attempt to ignore the old woman's words. I sat on the floor and bent my head to look at my hands and not Helice's wrinkled face. The prospect of not ever seeing Eurydice again was heavy on my heart. Frightened tears burned behind my eyes. It was not fair—but I was not going to listen to the raspy rambling of an old woman. "Father will arrange a marriage for me no matter what you say," I informed her smugly.

"Demeter will not let your gift go to waste, Ianthe," Helice told me solemnly, knowing that she would win my attention with those words.

I lifted my head to face her. "What are you talking about?" I asked meekly.

"You are favored by her, I think. Do you not dream dreams others do not? You are special."

I shook my head; all this was not true. "You have made a mistake," I insisted. "I have never seen a prophecy."

Helice pursed her lips together, the taste of lemon in her mouth. She abandoned my spinning and walked from the room, her sandals trampling the dirt on the floor: my future, she said. "You will sit on the tripod," she told me as she stood beneath the entryway. "You will utter her wisdom and advise men just as I have. If you do not, you will suffer what I have foreseen. Eurydice will die." Her words hung on the air like a fog.

I stared at her intently, unsure of what to say as Helice limped out of the room—and I never noticed before that she had a limp. "You are lying!" I cried, throwing the spindle and flax into the hearth, watching it writhe and blacken, turn to ash. I knew Helice did not hear me, but I did not care. If she was a priestess, she could read my thoughts.


	4. IV Mother

_My apologies for not updating sooner. I had been hoping to do some research. Anyways, thank you to my reviewers. Reviews welcome! I plan to go back and edit past chapters soon, so inform me of any errors if you see them!_

**Chapter IV: Mother**

I did not listen to Helice. She was an old woman, after all, and did not possess all her wits. I retreated to my mother's room when I was idle enough to desire a spindle and flax. Her room was hot, and it was heavy with the sour scent of illness: perspiration and bitter medicines. My father did not send for physicians to attend to her anymore. They all said the same thing, anyway, that she was too ill—that a proper sacrifice might appease the gods enough to make her well. But my father did not want to spare a bull or even a kid.

Summer was upon the city. Its heat clung to the stones and glazed our skins. My tunic stuck to my skin; I did not need Andromeda's clay cylinders to make the hair curl at my brow. But what the heat did to me did not matter as much as what it did to my mother. Her yellowed skin became beaded with sweat. Her hair fell out of her head and her eyes, when they were open, displayed tiny threads of red. I attended to her when she called to me. Other times I drew a stool to a darkened corner, taking care that I had a light near me when it got too dark to see, and it was always dim in her room.

In the monotony of the women's quarters, I thought of my cousin Eurydice. I wished that she would come and visit me but I had not seen her since the wedding procession. It saddened me that the scrapes on my knees were only faded scars now; my skill at such games as knucklebones was dwindling. I stood before the fire once, my wooden doll in my hand. I wanted to throw her to the flames, displeased that I was the only child now. And I only carried the doll because Eurydice had one that matched.

Sometimes I closed my eyes and tried to listen for Demeter's visions. But all I heard was my mother's raspy breathing and her burdened groaning. I tried to invoke prophecy—everything Helice was certain I possessed. But I saw nothing behind my eyes but hopeless daydreams.

"You are like the wild women of the Thermoden," my mother once told me. I remembered the way she stroked my hair when her hands did not shake. "Ianthe, you are too stubborn for any man, and you are too restless to live the life of a priestess." And this was when I knew she loved Andromeda better than me. She would ask me if I preferred women. I did not answer for spite, glad that she did not know I crept into the courtyard sometimes to spy on the male servants in their rooms.

It was in the late afternoon that my mother finally stirred. She beckoned me to her with trembling fingers, asking that I push the linen to the foot of the bed. "It is too warm," she murmured, sitting up with a grimace. "Ianthe, where are my cosmetics?"

"Why do you need them?" I wondered, rising to find them for her. I found the little box that contained the white lead powder, the red for her cheeks.

"Quickly," she urged, reaching out them. Her eyes closed briefly, opening to reveal the blood-shot white. She smeared the white across the paleness of her face, and it made her look sicklier. "Call Helice to fix my hair; I am… am going to the market today."

But I did not move. "I will fix your hair for you," I offered finally.

"Your fingers are much too clumsy, Ianthe."

"I have learned," I tried. "Why do you want to go to the market? Will Father let you?"

But my mother didn't answer me; she looked dully into my eyes, smiling crookedly. "I might begin my journey to the Underworld this night, daughter, so why does it… matter what my husband thinks?" She reached out to touch my cheek, frowning the way a mother does every now and then when she finds some imperfection in her child. "When you were born your father wanted to… expose you. He wanted me to give you up for the… stray dogs, for the Hetairai who would turn you into some… flute girl."

I had heard this all before; Andromeda had heard it from the oldest servants and used it against me whenever we quarreled. "But you are a girl, too!" I would shout at her.

"It was Helice who brought you… back to me. I gave her a pair of gold earrings. I fought to keep you and your father relented—but only if I… handed you to wet nurse right away so that I could return to his bed. I cursed my womb that day so I would not have to bear the brute sons; perhaps… I cursed the rest of me too." She swallowed some more air for speaking.

"Only the gods curse," I tried to remind her. "And it is only the summer heat; your illness will pass, I know. Helice says that I am a prophetess, so I think that I may be right."

"I have been sick since you… you were a small girl," my mother scoffed. "And you do not believe Helice."

"How do you know?"

"You do not seem to believe yourself. You scoff… just as I do."

I examined my mother's face, the creases at the corners of her eyes much deeper than I ever remembered. "And… if you are a prophetess, you will have to be sent to some temple for… for some god to have you. Have you foreseen anything, child?"

I shook my head. "Nothing," I admitted. "Even though Helice says I do. She says that I might never die. Can that be true, Mother? She says that I must never speak to my cousin Eurydice again." My face grew even more forlorn at that.

"I do not… think you would like that very much," my mother said gently.

A mute servant accompanied my mother and me to the market. My father was not so concerned with letting his sick wife venture out into the streets. He waved his hand at the servant and gave his permission without saying a word. He had his other women, I knew—clever women who knew more about the world than my mother did, more than I will ever know. They amused him more than anything, and he would leave the house often to visit with them.

I was my mother's walking stick. She pressed her thin body against mine, mumbling that I was a strong girl, that a man's strength would not have sufficed. "They are rough," she had told me, frowning. Her skin was hot, and then it was cold. Her breathing became even more burdened in the dry air. She bade me to stop, turning her head a little bit to glance at our house.

"Her name is Agape," she said grimly. "But I will not waste… my last breaths to complain about my husband's infidelity. Even… even Zeus took different forms to visit all his earthly women…"

"Do you hate her?" I heard myself ask. "Are you jealous?"

"Never," she hissed, dragging her feet across the stones. "She is beautiful… yes… but she cannot… be a good wife. But then… perhaps… it is better not to be a wife at all…"

Soon the smell of spices reached my nose and the busy chatter of a crowd sounded in my ears. We were greeted by long lengths of cloth, by baskets of spices from the East, by traders selling Egyptian glass or stones the colour of the Aegean Sea. Fishermen were there from the sea, waving catches in our faces as we walked past them. There were mostly men there, gathered to converse with one another. My mother let our mute companion on his errands, but I could not go anywhere. I groaned a little under her meager weight.

"My lady…"A man dressed in a dark garment pulled at my mother's clothes. He reached across the hot ground, prodding at my mother's sandals. "My lady," he repeated. "Will you allow me to play you a song?" I recognized him then; it was the minstrel from the wedding feast. His lyre was placed at his feet. "For a coin or two," he implored, "or one of your gold earrings."

My mother allowed him a dull-witted stare. "I have musicians at my house who have some skill at the lyre," she said.

"Your name is Orpheus," I said, and his eyes widened. "I have heard you play before."

He bowed his head modestly—but I knew he had recognized me. "It is an honour, then." His calloused fingers twitched in his lap; he drew his bleeding feet under his tunic.

"You insulted my sister," I said breathlessly. There was a sparkle in my eye, I was sure.

"You know that I was not talking about your sister."

I paused, ashamed to have tried to make him believe I knew otherwise. "How do you know such things?" I challenged, my legs trembling. I could feel my mother's breath on my cheek, her rough hands grasping my fingers. I was startled when the man beckoned me to go closer to him. And so I leaned forward, my mother's body bending over my back, her dark hair tickling my face, mingling with mine.

"I have traveled from Colchis to Sparta—across the sea to Ionia. But it was in your father's house that I felt death on my skin. I saw a snake curled up on your hearth; I saw a woman dead on the banquet table; I saw you holding a dead infant wrapped in black gossamer." He pointed to the temple on the hill. "You might be safe there," he said.

"Ianthe… take me elsewhere," my mother commanded weakly.

I nodded slowly and drew away from the poor minstrel. "Goodbye, minstrel," I said coldly.


End file.
